The Assassin's Way
by TheBriggsWay
Summary: The Avengers have always done things their way; the same applies to the Justice League. Both acknowledge the other's presence, but nothing more. However, when chance and circumstance forces the two together, they must fight for the sake of those who cannot, or face their own demise. I can't write summaries. Bat-fam and Avengers centered with some other DC supers sprinkled in.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

 **Hi all! It's TheBriggsWay, and I am presenting you with The Assassin's Way. This is my FIRST EVER story, so if it sucks that's why lol. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so if you see anything that needs fixing, please let me know, just be kind about it :) Umm, yeah, timeline-wise, this is pretty soon after the events of The Avengers 2012 (though I'm having a couple of Tony's suits being built a couple years in the future, sorry lol). As for the DC side of things, I have absolutely no clue- I am new to the fandom and have no idea what happens when, so if something is blatantly wrong, pretend it's an alternate timeline or whatever because! I am a helpless case! Thank you for your, patience, and I hope you enjoy what you read!**

 **Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE FABULOUS MARVEL COMICS, MCU, DC COMICS, DCU, WHATEVER OTHER CATEGORY THIS FALLS INTO. THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS.**

 **Chapter One: Preparation**

"Remind me again why we're going to this gala? I thought I _explicitly_ stated that I wanted no part in anything Wayne."

Pepper sighs, slightly exasperated, and reaches up to adjust her partner's bowtie with a few quick tugs, "Because it would be good for _Stark Industries_ to branch out with other companies, and this gala is the perfect place to get our foot in the door." The look of utter horror Tony shoots her way suggests that this is the first time he is fully comprehending what this implies and is not happy about it. Pepper simply rolls her eyes in response. It's not like she's told him this reasoning once already. Or twice. Or four times.

"But it's _Wayne_ ," Tony counters, spitting out the name as if it were poison. Pepper simply hums a distracted reply, finishing up the final touches of Tony's outfit before stepping away. She gives him a quick once over to make sure nothing is out of place and is happy to find nothing wrong. In fact, the grey pinstripe suit he sports masks the shine of his arc reactor (his only irregularity, according to the press) masterfully, the faint aqua glow barely visible beneath the thick fabric. Satisfied with her work, Pepper drifts over to a neighboring cabinet, plucking two golden earrings out of her jewelry dish, and glances into a mirror, attempting to both end the discussion with her silence and complete her attire for the evening. Tony, not one for being ignored, indignantly follows Pepper across the room with slightly wounded pride. He plants himself behind her and forces her to meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

" _Wayne_ ," he emphasizes again once he is certain he has Pepper's attention, forcing as much loathing into the name as he can. Pepper snorts, unamused, and her gaze flicks back to the jewelry in her hand.

"I still don't see why you hate that man so much."

Tony's lip curls back in disgust, faded memories making their way to the forefront of his mind, "Well, for starters, he stole Charlotte from me-"

"You were seven and didn't have her in the first place."

"-and he's just an ass! Honestly, all he does is sleep around and waste his money on stupid parties."

Pepper fixes Tony with a deadpan stare, a lone eyebrow quirked, before returning to her work. Tony, reading the meaning behind her look, releases an irritated huff and averts his gaze to the ceiling. This only lasts a moment as a beat of silence passes. Then:

"Okay, but seriously, Wayne?"

"Oh, for the love of God!" Pepper exclaims, slamming her open palms on the red wood cabinet with a thud. She stands to her full height and whirls around, squaring off against Tony's now somewhat-terrified frame.

"You _will_ go to Bruce Wayne's gala, you _will_ try to get a deal with him, and you _will_ be on your best behavior," Pepper orders, jabbing her finger against Tony's arc reactor at the end of each phrase, "or so help me I will work with JARVIS to change the password to your lab, do I make myself clear?"

Tony wisely does not comment about how that is technically impossible to do because he programmed JARVIS to listen to his orders over everyone else's, but he nods anyway. A sheepish grin manages to slip on his face, a hand running across his neck nervously, "Yeah, sure, Pep, whatever you say."

"Good," Pepper asserts, her hands resting on her hips, "because I definitely will follow through with my threat."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that," Tony laughs easily, and he means what he says. As impossible as it may be, Pepper would find a way around the system he set in place, even if it meant she would not get sleep the rest of the month. When Pepper sets her mind to something, there is no stopping her. Tony bets she would even go as far as contacting Banner for information if it meant locking him out of the lab.

 _So, to the gala I go_ , Tony sighs, still dreading the idea entirely but not willing to sacrifice his lab time. Honestly, he does not understand why everyone is making such a big fuss over this. Sure, there would be innumerable benefits for both _Stark Industries_ and _Wayne Enterprises_ should a deal be struck between the two, but that is what meetings are for. He should merely approve of whatever deal is made, nothing more, nothing less. "Making friends" is not his forte. Furthermore, the party isn't even in New York; it's in _Gotham_. That city full of crazies, both on the good side and the bad. Muggers and mobsters run rampant throughout the day, stealing and killing as they please, and that alone keeps most people away. But then the sun sets, and all hell breaks loose. Scarecrow gases the city with breathable fear; the Joker dances around town as if he owns the place, his very laugh sending chills down any sane person's spine; even the superhero Batman works outside of the law, defeating criminals in an effective yet terrifying manner. Tony may be Iron Man, but even _he_ quakes a little at the prospect of staying in that city for anything longer than a couple hours. As an unsettled knot forms in Tony's stomach, he wonders whether or not he can convince Pepper to let him keep Mark 5 on standby as a precaution. He shoots her a quick glance, noting how her jaw is set stubbornly and how her eyes are daring him to object anymore, and he decides that he is just going to do it anyway, not in the mood to fight her on it right now. Will she be furious if -no _when_ \- she finds out? Absolutely, but as he watches her slowly return to her routine to get ready, his heart swelling with a deep desire to keep her safe, _Oh God, please let nothing happen to her on this trip_ , he accepts that her anger is something he is willing to face. The feeling of her wrath would be nothing compared to the feeling he would undoubtedly experience should he lose her, especially when he was there to protect her.

Tony jerks his head to the side in an attempt to clear his mind of such dark, wayward thoughts. No. He will not lose her- he would die before he let that happen. He couldn't imagine the overwhelming sense of loss that would overtake his life should he fail to keep her safe or, God forbid, _alive_.

Tony shakes his head a second time, the weight in his stomach sitting heavier than before. _Snap out of it, Stark_ , he berates himself, his hands fidgeting with the cufflinks at his wrists, _Nothing is going to happen. We will go to the party, have a couple drinks, share a dance or two, talk with Wayne, and then leave_. At this point, Tony's fidgeting has since shifted from his hands and has taken control of the rest of his body, his slow, controlled pace around the room in stark contrast with the speed of his racing thoughts.

 _Worst comes to worst, I could fly her back to New York with Mark 5. We'd have to stick to the lower altitudes to keep her warm, but that shouldn't be an issue if-_

"Tony?" a concerned voice cuts through his haze, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. He stops mid-step and turns to face the only other occupant of the room, hastily trying to school his features from betraying his inner thoughts. Apparently he is unsuccessful, for a worried crease pinches between Pepper's eyebrows as she reads his tense posture.

"What's wrong?" she asks, taking a delicate step towards him.

Tony gulps. He's never been good at lying to Pepper; not only does he hate doing it, but she picks up on it faster than a mom noticing her kids are doing something they shouldn't. Hell if he didn't try it anyway, though.

"It's nothing," Tony responds tersely, waving a dismissive hand, "I just have a lot on my mind." There. Not a complete lie, at least.

If Pepper sees through his lie, she decides not to comment. Instead, her eyes soften, and she reaches up to cup Tony's cheek. He stiffens initially at the sudden contact before melting into her presence, all of the stress he feels about the situation momentarily put on pause.

"Tony," she repeats softly, and, as if she knows exactly what he is thinking, says, "we're going to be okay."

And then it is as if a dam exploded, "You can't know that for sure, Pep- I mean, it's Gotham of all places! Lord only knows what happens there on a daily basis. Do you know how many people _die_ there, Pep, _die_ every single day? That city is a madhouse!"

"Oh, there is no denying that," Pepper concedes, "but that does not mean that we should let it scare us away." Tony has the gal to look offended.

"I'm not _scared_ ," he replies, partially in denial, "I just want to keep you safe!"

"And you will," Pepper counters calmly, no heat in her voice, "because if I know you the way I think I do, you were already planning on bringing a suit as backup, correct?" She doesn't even wait for an answer as she walks out of the room, a sly smirk on her face.

"I think Mark 5 would be a little too obvious- I'd keep Mark 42 on call if I were you!" she suggests over her shoulder from the hallway, her voice fading as she drifts farther and farther away from the bedroom.

Tony releases an ear-splitting grin, resolving to _never_ break up with this wonderful woman he is dating before bounding out of the room after her, shooting Happy a quick text to get the car ready as the couple makes their way to the elevators to leave for the night.

"Remind me again why I'm going to this gala? I thought I _explicitly_ stated that I wanted no part in any of father's ludicrous parties," a young, rough voice calls out, irritation woven into each passing syllable. The owner of said voice sits atop of the room's king-size bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in frustration, his gaze following the room's only other occupant with bored, if not slightly calculating, emerald-green eyes. The older individual, for his part, does not stumble at the sudden outburst, but rather continues with his work as if nothing has happened, replying with practiced ease:

"Because, Master Damian, your father has requested your presence. You should need no more of a reason than that." The boy scowls.

"I _will_ need more of a reason than that, Alfred," Damian snaps, sliding off the bed and silently moving towards a nearby desk. He absentmindedly hefts a red face mask off of its placeholder and bounces it deftly between his hands before facing the aged butler once more, "I have no intent in participating in an event if there is no purpose behind it, for then it is just a waste of my time, _especially_ on a patrol night."

Alfred nods, fully taking in what the ex-assassin explained as he places a child-sized tuxedo on the bed. He knows that there is no real use in arguing with the boy- he is just as stubborn as his father. However, if there is one thing that will get both Waynes to concede a point, it is appealing to their sense of logic; if there is unshakeable reasoning behind something, they will follow through with it to the end. Hence the dressing up as bats and running around the city at night fighting crime. So, in an effort to appeal to this mindset, Alfred chooses his next words carefully.

"And what if I were to tell you," his accented voice finally responds, fully filling up the space of the open room, "that, by throwing galas, Master Bruce can further business deals in a social setting when people are more, shall I say, tipsy and open to new ideas, thus earning _Wayne Enterprises_ more money? More money for the company means more funding for your nightly activities, I do believe. Everything Master Bruce does, he does with a purpose, Master Damian."

"I never said that wasn't true, though I still don't see why _I_ must be dragged into his schemes," Damian grumbles, slowly caving to the butler's point but too proud to admit defeat. However, he is willing to let the subject drop; if the party, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, supports his outings every evening, then he should be there for his father to make sure it runs as smoothly as possible. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, of course. There is one question that continues to bother him, though.

"So, who's watching Gotham?"

It isn't Alfred that answers, "Well, Dick is caught up in Blüdhaven, Tim's on a mission with the Titans, and I'm pretty sure Jason will ignore everything I tell him, so, currently nobody." Both Damian and Alfred turn towards the newcomer, neither very surprised at the unexpected addition to the conversation. Though Bruce Wayne moves as silent as a shadow, as quiet as a ghost (an occupational hazard, it seems), both have since ceased to be startled by his sudden appearances; it is hard to surprise those who have been trained to move in the same way.

"However," Bruce continues, stepping further into the room, the lithe silhouette of a great dane at his legs, "the gala ends at ten, so I don't foresee there being too much of an issue if we head out a little later tonight. But only," Bruce pauses, fixing Damian with a stare, "if you behave yourself." Damian purses his lips.

"Yes father."

Bruce doesn't budge, the red light of the setting sun streaming through the windows, "I mean it, Damian. A lot of important people are coming tonight- I expect you to be on your best behavior." The muscles in Damian's back tighten and his hands close into fists at his side as he repeats:

" _Yes_ _father_."

Satisfied, Bruce, reading his son's tense posture, dips his head in submission, effectively stopping the conversation, "Very well- I didn't expect you to act up, anyway. I just needed to be sure." Damian's fists loosen somewhat at this, and his stance relaxes as relief floods his system.

 _Good. So father doesn't think of me as a failure waiting to happen._

Now appeased, Damian turns his attention to his dog, which has since made its way across the room and leaned its heavy weight into his side. The great dane looks up to Damian expectantly, and Damian sighs, scratching the dog vigorously under the chin, "You're getting spoiled, you know that, right Titus?" Titus simply wags his tail in response, and Alfred chuckles.

"And that would be no thanks to you, Master Damian," Damian shoots the butler a glare as Bruce grins, Damian's cheeks flushing pink.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Damian demands, venom lacing his words. He catches the look in his father's eye, however, and reluctantly dulls the heat of his scowl. Alfred chuckles again.

"I meant no offense besides that you give that dog the most affection out of the family. I see nothing wrong with that," the butler appeases. When the glower remains plastered on Damian's face, Alfred hums, then addresses the other adult in the room.

"My, my, Master Bruce, I do believe he picks that up from you." Now it is Bruce's turn to frown as the old butler releases a hearty laughs in response, "Come now, I'm only joking, Master Bruce. _You_ have a _much_ more frightening glare." At this, even Damian lets a small smirk overtake his scowl at the sight of his father's deepening frown. Slight digs aside, Alfred does know how to ease the tension in a room. Now that he thinks about it, Damian notes that, though both he and his father were insulted, he, at least, feels lighter now, less on edge, than when his conversation with Bruce ended. One look at his father, and Damian can tell that, despite what his facial expression might say, he feels the same way.

 _And maybe that was his plan all along_ , Damian muses to himself, still massaging Titus as he observes Alfred push past Bruce towards the open door. Once Alfred's hand reaches the handle, he stops and spares a glance at his wristwatch.

"It's high time you got dressed for tonight, Master Damian- you don't want to be late, now do you? That would not leave the best impression on the visiting executives. Master Bruce, if you would follow me out, if you may." And then Alfred is gone, exiting just as silently as his master entered.

Bruce shakes his head, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. His gaze lingers on the spot Alfred just stood, "I still don't know how he manages to do that." Damian pinches his eyebrows.

"Do what?"

Bruce shifts his ice-blue gaze from the door and settles it on his son, his eyes crinkling in the corners, "Manage to manipulate a situation like that, particularly because we are trained not to fall for it." Damian snorts, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"He's _Pennyworth_. Are you really that surprised?" Bruce laughs, beckoning Titus to him and exiting the room.

"I guess I really shouldn't be. We leave in an hour."

The _click_ of a closed door follows his father's leave, and Damian is left alone. He does not move immediately from his position as he mulls over what just occurred. With a shrug, he glides back over to his bed and stares at the tuxedo laid on it.

"Now where is the best place for me to hide a couple of batarangs . . .?"

 **Aaaaaaaand, that's a wrap! For chapter one, at least. If you made it this far, THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THAT MEANS TO ME. Remember, reviews are appreciated, but please keep the hate to a minimum :) Also, you are in NO WAY obligated to leave a review, a favorite, a follow, etc. Though those would be very kind of you, the fact that you finished what I wrote means the world to me, so thank you! I will update whenever I get the next part out, which will hopefully be sooner than later, and I hope you have a great rest of your day/afternoon/evening!**

 **TheBriggsWay**


	2. Chapter 2: The Gala

**Author's Notes:**

 **Hi all! So here is Chapter Two for** _ **The Assassin's Way**_ **! For all of the people who favorited/commented/followed, thank you so much, I am flattered! For all of you who are coming back to read chapter two, thank you to you as well! It really means so much to me that you are interested enough to continue reading the story. I'm sorry it took me so long to update (my schedule has been PACKED), so I hope a longer chapter makes up for it? If not, oh well, lol. Also, I'm gonna answer my reviews real quick because I think this is what other authors do (have I mentioned I'm new to writing on this site?).**

 **Bonhamrules: Awww, thank you so much, that is very sweet!**

 **The Devil Who Writes: Thank you to you as well! I'm glad you are enjoying it :)**

 **Leonard Church814: That is a fair point- I'll get around to updating the summary eventually lol. Thank you for your honesty!**

 **WintersoIdier: Thank you so much, that is very very kind of you! :)**

 **Aaaaaaaaand without further ado, I present you with Chapter Two of** _ **The Assassin's Way**_ **!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel Comics, the MCU, DCU, DC Comics, or whatever other category this can fall into- they belong to their respective owners.**

 **Chapter Two: The Gala**

Tony stares out of the slightly open, tinted window of his car. Sporadic flashes of paparazzi cameras assault his vision while he watches over-enthusiastic reporters clamber over one another in frantic attempts to get closer to his vehicle. Tony winces as one reporter falls flat on his face before he immediately bounds back to his feet to join the deranged mass of people.

"Well this will be fun."

"Oh hush," Pepper reprimands, fiddling with her golden bracelets as she peers out the window as well, "You did just save the world- I'd be surprised if they _weren't_ excited to see you." Tony snorts.

"Excited isn't quite the word- frenzied fits better." Pepper bites her lower lip but does not try to refute his claim. Her worried eyes scan the crowd, and she sighs.

"They do seem more eccentric than usual," she concedes, nervously tucking a stray piece of strawberry hair behind her ear. Despite the reassurances she has given Tony stating she would be fine, Pepper can't help but feel the slightest bit unsafe. It _is_ Gotham after all. Though she is sure there have been safety measures put in place- and a precursory glance confirms that there are indeed security guards stationed all around the hotel -she still feels uneasy.

Unsafe.

 _Watched_.

Pepper anxiously studies the horde of journalists once more, trying to identify the source of her discomfort, and a sickly sweet odor fills her nostrils. As the seconds drag on with no culprate identified, her heart rate spikes, blood painfully thudding against her chest. Her breathing becomes fast, shallow. Her panic continues to build, and she grips her navy blue dress so tight her knuckles turn white. Pepper's scanning becomes frantic as her gaze continues to sweep over nameless reporters, her palpable terror pumping through her veins by her frenetic heart. Just when it feels like she is about to burst, like she is going to fully succumb to her paranoia, a hardy gust of wind sweeps through the sea of people and into the vehicle, sending hats and journal notepads flying in the breeze. Pepper's fear seems to dissipate slightly, and after a couple moments, she is back to her usual self. Releasing the tufts of her dress with shaky hands, she takes a deep breath of clean air before turning towards the other occupants in the car.

It appears Tony isn't faring much better than she is- he looks like he was struck, his face three shades paler than when the conversation started, and his arms are half-way lifted into the Mark 42 summoning pose. Happy Hogan- Tony's longtime bodyguard, chauffeur, and friend -looks as if he is about to get sick; his features are scrunched up in pain and discomfort, and his chocolate brown hair is matted with sweat. For an instant, nobody says anything, each one of them visibly forcing themselves to calm down. Then, Tony breaks the silence, unbuckling and leaning forward in his seat so he is right next to Happy.

"Drive us back to the tower."

Pepper stiffens, "Tony-"

"I don't want to hear it, Pep."

"-I know that was freaky, but we still need to get a business deal-"

Tony latches on to one word, whirling around to face his partner, eyes wide with lingering panic, " _Freaky_? That's how you describe . . . whatever the hell that was?" Tony chuckles humorlessly, "I hate to break it to you, Pep, but that was _way_ past freaky. That was downright _terrifying_." Pepper, though she can't help but agree, squares her shoulders stubbornly.

"We came here with a goal," she declares, bending down to scoop up her clutch bag, a determined gleam in her eye, "and the last thing we're gonna do is leave before we can complete it." With that, she thrusts the car door open and steps out into the swarm of reporters, her stride confident and purposeful.

"Pepper!" Tony exclaims, reaching out for her dwindling form. When she doesn't turn around, Tony curses.

"Be here by ten o'clock sharp," Tony orders Happy, his voice hard, "You'd better not be late." Tony doesn't wait for a response before he follows Pepper's lead and exits the vehicle.

And is immediately mobbed.

" _Mr. Stark, how did you feel when you were carrying the nuke into space?_ "

" _Is it true that you knew about the Avengers Initiative before it was made public?_ " _  
_" _What do you think about the damage costs? American taxpayers want answers!_ "

Tony ignores them all, shoving past them with more force than is probably necessary. Is he being rude? Sure, but right now he needs to get to Pepper, and this crowd is keeping him from doing that. Every time he manages to find a gap in the endless swarm of paparazzi, the spot gets immediately filled with another enthusiastic journalist, microphone in hand, a half-formed question on their lips. Tony grits his teeth as the fourth opening he has found is torn away from him; he is starting to get fed up with this. Suddenly, he spies Pepper not too far from his current position, and he starts to make his way toward her. With one final shove, he manages to break through the wall of reporters and stumbles to her side, muttering a few choice words under his breath.

Pepper shoots him a coy smile, "Nice of you to join me."

Tony doesn't verbally respond, instead shoving his hands into his pockets and continuing to grumble as he scuffs the ground childishly.

"Let's just get this over with."

Pepper's smirk grows, "You can thank me for this when you have a partnership with _Wayne Enterprises_." Tony grumbles once more.

Not really wanting to be the first people inside, the two pose for a couple photos for the non-intrusive members of the press (quite frankly, the few reporters who politely asked for photographs as opposed to just taking them). Once done with that, the couple spends some minutes dawdling outside, idly chatting with familiar faces as they arrive before finally making their way into the grandiose hotel.

Needless to say, the pair is not disappointed by what they see- the room is made entirely of pristine marble, fingers of gold intricately weaving in and out among the white stone. On the ceiling, a chandelier composed of hundreds of glistening crystals and lights hangs regally, the centerpiece of the room. Accents of red are splashed about the room in the forms of paintings, carpets, reception desks, the like. Overall, the scene is breathtakingly beautiful, even for someone as accustomed to the finer things in life such as Tony.

As the couple takes in the view before them, a younger man with chestnut hair pulled back into a low ponytail greets them, a smile plastered on his face.

"Are you here for the gala?" the youth inquires, his brown eyes shining with excitement. When he gets two nods of confirmation, one confused, the other kind, he beams.

"Great!" he exclaims, gesturing to the other side of the entryway where two oak doors are kept wide open, allowing sounds of clinking champagne glasses and muffled laughter fill the air, "then you can follow me this way!" The boy only takes about two steps before he stops in his tracks and turns to face the couple sheepishly.

"I actually need to see your invitation," he explains, reading their quizzical expressions, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Pepper lets out a small " _oh_ " before digging through her purse and producing the object in question.

The boy spares a quick glance at the sheet of paper before saying, "Yup, looks like everything is in order. This way please!" He then proceeds to zealously guide the pair to the ballroom. A couple of silent seconds pass before Pepper clears her throat awkwardly.

"So, what's your name?"

"Jared," the youth responds swiftly, shooting a glance back at the couple, "It is nice to meet you two."

Pepper smiles, "It is nice to meet you as well, Jared." When she does not hear a response from Tony, she not-so-subtly jabs him in the ribs with her elbow. That jolts Tony out of whatever stupor he had found himself in, though his eyebrows remain pinched in thought.

"Nice to meet you kid. Say, how old are you anyway?" That catches Jared off guard, and his smile falters from his bewilderment.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"How old are you?" Tony repeats, "you just seem a little young to land a job like this."

Hearing no insult in Tony's words, the boy's grin falls back into place, "Oh, I'm sixteen- my dad works for the hotel, and since they needed more staff for the party tonight, I offered to help."

"Well that is very kind of you," Pepper voices up, making her way into the conversation, "I don't know many sixteen year old boys who would volunteer to work, especially on a Friday night."

Jared shrugs minutely as he expertly weaves the couple through throngs of people, "Anything to help pay the bills, though I gotta say, it is kinda fun working a party like this." Suddenly, the youth stops, bringing their conversation to a close before the doors of the main-floor ballroom. He then turns to face the couple, his contagious smile still dominating his features, "Welp, looks like this is where I leave you- drinks are at the bar. Thanks for the conversation, and I hope you have a great night!" With that, the boy glides away back into the crowd towards the entrance of the party to guide more guests towards the gala.

Tony blinks at his sudden disappearance, "Well that was weird." Pepper smacks his arm playfully, though her gaze remains pointed.

"Be nice," she chides, "he was very sweet."

"He was looking for a tip, that's what he was." Pepper rolls her eyes dramatically, an amused sigh escaping past her lips.

"Whatever you say, Tony, but just remember- you are on your best behavior tonight."

Tony gives a half-hearted salute, not looking forward to the coming evening in the slightest, "Yes ma'am."

Pepper laughs, grabbing his arm and dragging him into the ballroom, "Come on, let's get going before all of the good dinner seats are taken."

* * *

As much as Tony hates to admit it, Bruce Wayne knows how to throw a party. The music is a live band that he's never heard of but will definitely be hiring in the future; the food has been _amazing_ , and not just the appetizer-only crap commonly found at these types of events, but full-blown meals; and the company he's been sharing has been fascinating- sure, the majority of the people here are a bunch of stuck-up rich guys, but then there are others like Lucius Fox who are capable of quite stimulating conversations. Overall, there's only an hour left in the night, and, dare he say it, Tony has actually been _enjoying_ himself.

Well, he'd be enjoying himself _more_ if he were dancing with Pepper, and, as he listens to the music currently playing, he decides that this is the perfect time to do so. With that thought in mind, he saunters his way over to his date for the night, flashing a cheeky grin her way.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Tony lies as he slips his way into the conversation Pepper is currently having with an elderly gentleman at their dinner table, "but since this is her favorite song, I was wondering if Miss Potts would mind sharing a dance with me?" While the man looks affronted at the intrusion and is about to open his mouth to object, Pepper bounces to her feet, barely-concealed relief overtaking her posture.

"Yes, of course- thank you so much for your time, Mr. Levkoff, it's been a pleasure meeting you. _Stark Industries_ will reach out to you with our answer within the week." Pepper then scurries over to Tony, looping her arm through his and rapidly tugs him to the dancefloor.

As soon as the two get out of earshot of Pepper's old company, Pepper groans, massaging her temple with her free hand, "Thanks for the save."

Tony quirks both of his eyebrows in response, "Didn't look like I was saving you from anything but a dull conversation."

" _Exactly_! My God, he talked _on_ and _on_ about how _Stark Industries_ could help his company with _this_ , or we could help him with _that_. Not once did he say how he could benefit our company."

Tony grimaces, "Sounds rough."

"It was! Ugh, I need a drink."

Tony then grins, grasping one of her hands with his own, the other resting at her waist, "Now _that_ I can get behind. After our dance, though, I'm quite enjoying this." Pepper hums quietly in agreement, and the pair falls into comfortable silence. They sway with the movement of the music, each one savoring this dance; it is not often that the two find themselves alone and able to spend time with one another, especially with the tower packed with the members of The Avengers, so they cherish happy moments like these, however sparring they may be. The minutes pass quickly, and all too soon, the music slowly fades away, forcing the couple to slow their waltz to a stop as well. The music then picks up in tempo as the next piece is started, changing the pace and the style of dance. Reluctantly, the couple releases each other and are forced off the dancefloor, not entirely sure how to slow dance to a rap song.

Now standing at their vacant table, Pepper beams up at Tony.

"Thanks for the dance; I enjoyed it a lot."

Tony shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, "That was nothing. Wait until we dance to some AC/DC- now _that's_ a jam." Pepper's laugh rings through the air in response, and she rests her head on Tony's shoulder. Tony releases a grin as his stance relaxes, pulling her closer to him. Yeah, he could enjoy this. Suddenly, as if he spoke too soon, Tony stiffens, sensing another presence approaching them from behind (he's been able to pick up on these things from his time in Afghanistan and the Battle of New York), and he subtly places himself between the intruder and Pepper.

"Well, I hope I'm not interrupting something," a smooth, charismatic voice drifts their way, a smug undertone setting Tony on edge.

This voice does little to calm Tony's nerves as he replies through gritted teeth, his stance becoming rigid, "Yes, in fact, you are. Now, can you do the world a great service and leave?"

Bruce Wayne steps fully into his and Pepper's view, snagging a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter's tray, "I'd say I'm hurt, but I know you didn't mean that." He takes a sip before leveling an intelligent gaze on Tony, "Unless you did, in which I can go."

"That won't be necessary," Pepper frantically jumps into the conversation, shooting Tony her dirtiest glower in the process, "he just thinks he's being funny when he's not. Hi, I'm Pepper Potts." Tony scowls- leave it to that bastard to ruin a moment.

" _Stark Industries'_ newest CEO," Bruce replies easily, taking her extended hand and bringing it to his lips, "the pleasure is all mine." Pepper blushes furiously at the action while Tony's scowl only deepens.

"Are you here for a reason, Wayne?" Tony demands, not giving a damn if he is being rude. Bruce ruined a moment and deserves whatever he can throw his way. If Bruce is offended by Tony's tone, he doesn't show it, though. Instead, his face morphs into one of mild confusion.

"For a reason?" he repeats, his head slightly tilted to the side, "I'm here to check up with a friend I haven't seen in a while. Especially since the last time I spoke with him was before he had a gaping hole in his chest. Speaking of which . . ." Bruce shifts his gaze from Tony's irritated glare to his torso, openly studying the faint glow of blue that bleeds through the suit fabric, ". . . how exactly does that work? I heard it's keeping shrapnel out of your heart." Tony scoffs condescendingly.

"I'd explain it to you, but I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to keep up."

"Tony!" Pepper exclaims, her eyes widening in surprise and anger. She then whirls around to face Bruce in an attempt to amend the situation, "I am so sorry about him, he was just leaving-" _Oh shit, she's pissed at me_ "-to get me a drink. _Weren't you_ , Tony?" If looks could kill, Tony would be a dead man, and it is with this thought in mind that he grumbles something in agreement with Pepper's statement before marching away towards the bar.

"Stupid Wayne ruining stupid moments with my stupid girlfriend, just stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ," Tony mutters to himself as he slumps into a seat at the end of the bar, "How can I be so smart and yet be so _stupid_? She asked for one thing, Stark, and that was to be civil, and what do you do? You go and pick fights with the guy! Damn, I need a drink." As Tony cradles his head in his hands, the bartender looks at him sympathetically, placing a filled shot glass before the billionaire.

"On the house," the man explains when Tony looks up in surprise, hand reaching for his wallet, "you look like you need it." The man then shifts away to serve another customer. With a shrug, Tony downs the shot in one swig, barely hiding his grimace when the drink is stronger than expected. Tony is about to call out and order another round when he notices a boy of about ten years old sulking in the last seat, glaring daggers at the glass of water before him.

"Damn, what did the water ever do to you?" The boy's head snaps up in response, and, if it was possible, his glower darkens even further.

"Why the hell does it matter to you?" the boy demands, tone cold as ice, before returning his stare to the drink in front of him. Tony grins; now _that_ was a refreshing response- rarely does anyone have the guts to speak to him like that, especially since he has come out as Iron Man.

"I guess I really don't care about the answer," Tony replies with a shrug before catching the bartender's attention, holding up three fingers, "Besides, who would care about what's making a seven year old upset at an adult party, anyway?"

"I'm _ten_."

"Same difference," Tony waves off dismissively before sliding a shot glass down to the boy, keeping two for himself. The boy glances at the drink quizzically before shifting his stare to Tony.

"What's this for?" he asks, sniffing the drink experimentally. When he recoils with a look of disgust on his face, Tony barks out a laugh.

"Too strong? I can get you something lighter."

The boy's face falls back into a deep scowl, "You're vile."

"Nope," Tony counters, taking a shot, "just a bad influence. If you don't want the drink, give it back; I've had a long night." The boy does as he's asked and, soon enough, Tony has downed that drink too. Now that Tony has, in his own opinion, broken the ice between them, he attempts question the kid again.

"So, kid, what's eating you?"

"Remind me why you're talking to me again?"

"Because I'm an adult, and I'm supposed to care when kids are brooding in the corner," Tony answers, leaning back in the bar stool, "Besides, I've know that look you've been sporting- I recognize the same haunted stare every time I look in the mirror, so let me ask again. What's got you so worked up?"

Tony releases a satisfied smirk when he watches the boy fumble for his words, obviously not prepared to be interrogated on such a level. A few moments pass with the boy floundering for a response before his expression closes off into a nasty glare- _surprise, surprise, must be the kid's resting face_ -and he crosses his arms across his chest.

"I am in no way obligated to respond to you," the boy finally answers, jutting his chin out in challenge. Tony shrugs, downing another drink.

"Fine, suit yourself. _I_ , for one, have had an awful night-"

"I fail to recall asking for your opinion."

"-actually for the most part it was pretty good, though it did start kinda shitty with the sudden freak-out in the car-"

The boy immediately swivels in his chair to face Tony, his eyes taking on a calculating gleam, giving the man his full, undivided attention as he demands, "What did you just say?"

Tony frowns, not seeing what was wrong with his statement, "I said I had a pretty crappy night."

"No, after that."

"That it actually wasn't all that bad?"

" _No_ ," the boy cuts off, irritated, "the point with the freak out in the car."

"Oh yeah, that part," Tony responds, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly nervous, as if he says the wrong thing, he's going to get a punch in the gut- _Where the hell did_ that _idea come from?_ -, "I don't know what there is to say, really. One minute I was fine, the next, I was panicking. But before you start thinking I'm crazy," Tony defends himself, "I wasn't the only one to feel this- Pepper and Happy were like that too." Tony didn't think it was possible, but he watches as the boy's face switches from a look annoyance to one of slight fear, the color slowly draining from his already pale face.

Suddenly, the boy is directly in front of him- _damn, he moves quietly_ -, emerald green eyes scrutinizing his every move.

"You are sure that is what you felt?" the boy questions, tone leaving no room for nonsense, "Did you notice anything else? A weird smell, perhaps?" Tony pauses a moment, quickly trying to remember everything about the situation past his overwhelming sense of panic at the time.

"Uh, yeah, actually, there was a pretty sweet smell, now that you mention it. Why, am I missing something important?" The boy curses under his breath in what sounds like multiple languages before releasing Tony's suit jacket. He then proceeds to ignore Tony's question, much to the billionaire's chagrin.

"You need to get out of here," the boy orders, eyes rapidly darting around the gala as if he was searching for someone, " _now_."

Instead of heeding the boy's advice, Tony plants his feet stubbornly and doesn't budge, "Now just hold on a second- what exactly is going on here?"  
The boy growls in a way _no_ ten year old should be able to, eyes continuing to sweep the room, "I don't have time to explain beyond the fact that we are in danger, and _you gotta go_."

"And what about you? I can't just leave you beh-"

It is in this moment that the ballroom falls into complete darkness. People scream in panic before they race towards the exits, only to find them locked. People bang on the doors, pleading with people on the other side to let them out, but the oak doors remain firmly closed. Tony, now deciding that the situation is indeed serious and not some figment of a child's imagination, strikes the Mark 42 summoning pose, hoping desperately that it works.

 _Come on, come on, come on!_ Tony worries as the seconds tick by with not indication that his design was successful, the emergency lights starting to dimly brighten the room _You should be here by now._

The sound of breaking glass echoes throughout the dark space, the shrieking renewed at the sudden noise. Before Tony can wonder what caused the floor-to-ceiling windows to break, he is hit by a bludgeoning force on his arm. He instinctively attempts to rip _whatever-the-hell-it-is_ off of him but stops when the familiar sound of his flying tech meets his ears. Relief floods his system, and he even manages a small grin as force after force hits his body, slowly but surely building up his Iron Man suit. When the last piece of his armor finally falls into place- his helmet, and it didn't knock him prone this time, thank God -he immediately pulls up JARVIS.

"What's going on, J?"

"I'm not entirely sure, sir" the heavily accented voice responds, "it appears the power went out."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock, I mean _why_."

"One moment, sir."

As Tony stands there impatiently waiting for JARVIS to get back to him, he notices the kid silently trying to inch away from the area. Honestly, if he hadn't looked, Tony would never have noticed the boy had left.

"Ah, ah, ah," Tony scolds, walking over and grabbing the kid by the scruff of his tuxedo, "You stay by me- if shits gonna go down, you want to be safe." Instead of thanking him, the boy just redoubles his efforts to get away, squirming as much as he can.

"Unhand me, you imbecile!" the kid demands, "You don't know what you are doing!"

Tony scoffs, "Right, and a kid like you knows what's going on." The boy opens his mouth to respond, but before he can do so, he is cut off by a shrill beeping sound. Tony holds up a finger to keep the boy silent before giving his attention to his AI.

"Lay it on me, JARVIS."

"Good news, sir, the power will be able to be fixed."

Tony decides that he doesn't like the nature of the AI's voice, even though its programmed to speak in one tone, "Why do I feel like there is going to be a downside to all of this?"

"Very astute, sir. As we speak, the room is being filled with an unidentified gas."

" _WHAT_?" Tony recoils, still holding the boy in place, "and you didn't _think_ to start with that?"

"You never asked me about it, sir. If it is any consolation, the gas has only been released for seven seconds and your mask ventilates all potentially-"

"Cut the crap, JARVIS, and get to Pepper!" Tony interrupts, his mind flashing back to the conversation he had with Pepper hours prior.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Tony reaches up with his free hand and releases his face mask, a familiar sweet scent flooding his system before flinging the metal object in the last direction he remembers Pepper being.

"Get. To. Pepper!" he orders the AI. He watches as the mask does as it is told, frantically whirring around the room before it finds its target, latching onto her face with a _hiss_. Tony releases a sigh in relief, before pulling an earpiece out of his pocket and sticking it into his ear.

"Good news, sir," JARVIS informs him, chipper as ever, "It appears Miss Potts did not breathe enough of the gas for it to have an effect on her. However, I would recommend-"

Whatever JARVIS was about to say is cut off by the sounds of multiple people screaming. Actually, screaming isn't quite the right word. The sound is more animalistic, more _primal_. One by one, people around the room collapse to the ground, some tearing at their hair with trembling hands, others shaking as sobs wrack their bodies. Not one person escapes this fate, and as each breath passes, more and more people crumple to the earth in shrieking heaps.

As one shout sounds directly behind him, Tony instinctually whips around and freezes in place. Though his own panic is building, Tony can't help but feel sick as he stares at the figure before him. Jared looks up at him from the floor, his eyes flicking fearfully from invisible foe to invisible foe, his mouth wide open in a silent scream. Tony tries to reach out to him to offer some sort of comfort, but he is suddenly stopped when the boy he has been holding in his right hand stops struggling and suddenly goes limp. He releases the boy with a shout, and as the child hits the floor, he notices that the kid's gaze is like Jared's, fixed on some unseen enemy, though instead of a scream, his face is fixed into a scowl; he too has been lost to the gas.

Tony shifts his gaze across the room, moving it from one downed figure to the next, his own heart beat steadily rising. _What the hell does it do?_ Tony wonders, his breathing coming up short with each intake of gas. His heart slams against his chest with the same force as a freight train, and suddenly, his vision goes black.

 _What the actual hell?_

And then he can see, except he desperately wishes he couldn't. Loki stands before him, smug smirk plastered on his face as he releases a spine-chilling laugh. His posture is proud and tall, and his frame is surrounded by thousands of jeering Chitari. Quite frankly, he looks like a man who has just conquered the world, and, as Tony shifts his gaze from the God of Mischief to the prone figures on the ground, he leans over to get sick, and forces himself to look away. He does not want to see the limp forms of Banner, or Rogers, or Romanoff, or Thor, or Hawkeye or _anyone_. God, is he _the last one alive_? As he is pondering this, Loki's boots fill his vision and the god kicks him in the chest, sending him flying across the battlefield. Tony falls heavily into a heap on the ground, and he clutches his chest in agony. His shoots daggers at the approaching god, but he can't find it in himself to move out of the way. Instead of attacking him a second time, Loki simply crouches down before the prone billionaire and chuckles darkly.

"You think this is the worst of it?" the deity asks as he shakes his head condescendingly, "No, I'd say your pain has just begun." Loki then gestures over to his right, and Tony, despite what his better judgement is telling him, glances over to where the god pointed, and his blood runs cold.

Pepper is standing there in her work attire- the same outfit she wore the day New York was attacked -except instead of being on a plane, tucked away from the invasion like she should be, she has Loki's spear thrust through her chest, crimson blood seeping into her white blouse, her eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears, her mouth wide with agony.

Tony collapses to the ground, numb, and as Loki releases another bloodcurdling laugh, Tony can't help but scream.

 **Welcome to the end of Chapter Two! Wow, that turned out to be a lot longer than I anticipated lol. So . . . Fear Gas? How many of you thought it was going to be that at the gala? Real fast, though, I don't know how much Fear Gas people need to breathe before they feel its full effects, so that's why at the beginning of the chapter, Pepper and Tony and whatnot didn't go completely nutzo immediately. My theory is that they breathed in enough to start to be scared, but then the wind blew away the rest before the effects could take hold. If that's not how the Fear Gas works, I apologize for the inconsistency, but hey! That's how it's gonna work in my story. Past that, I don't have much to say after this one, so I guess thank you SOOOOOO much for reading, and have a great rest of your day/afternoon/evening!**

 **TheBriggsWay**


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